


Baby you talk so cool (but you make me feel so hot)

by HonestlyAwkward



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora Has a Penis (She-Ra), Adora/Everyone, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Lesbian Character, Catra Goes to Therapy (She-Ra), Demisexual Character, F/F, Friends to Lovers, G!P, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Verse, Orgy, Voyeurism, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26943766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HonestlyAwkward/pseuds/HonestlyAwkward
Summary: “Let your emotions flow through you like the tide, Catra. Not every fight or every urge has to feel like a tsunami.” Her therapist had said to her at their meeting last week.So here she is, riding this fucking surfboard of heat and want, on her way to a goddamn, honest to Eternia, sex party with A-fucking-dora Grayskull.-The first problem is that Catra is maybe, probably, absolutely still as in love with Adora as the day she walked out of her life despite the last however many years of silence, distance, and heartbreak.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 178





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, long time reader, first time writer for SPOP. It’s an honest to god shame there’s not more Catradora college AU content on here (there can never be enough college AUs), and I can’t deny a little omegaverse fun. The dynamic is gonna be a little non-traditional so I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> For those unfamiliar with the concept, a co-op is a house that is collectively owned by its renters, and in the case of college towns, typically a wonderful shitfest of zero personal space and twenty some twenty-somes trying to figure out how to be adults and live together. Typically inhabited by the peace-love-cooperation types, and yes one co-op in my college town absolutely used to hold an annual orgy/sex party so this is shit really happens. Enjoy.

Catra hates winter.

She hates the way the days get short, the way the summer sun which warms her fur and skin slinks below the horizon each day earlier and earlier. Catra hates the cold air and the wind that winds under her soft downy coat, chilling her to the bone. Catra hates the stupid holes she has to cut in her winter hats so that her ears can fit, and the scarfes she has to pile on her head for a semblance of warmth.

Catra hates the way everyone acts during winter, so eager to couple up and cuddle away from the cold, like it’s their one chance to find true love before the winter snow takes their mortal bodies. She hates the way normally sane omegas will go doe eyed for the nearest alpha, desperate to find a warm body to hold, to kiss, to fu-

Well, honestly Catra hates Mating Season. 

Rut. Heat. Estrus. Whatever you want to call it. The time of year when everyone above presenting age gets just a little too riled up, revved up and ready to rumble, horny at the slightest provocation. It’s not like it’s all encompassing or anything, but it’s like sex-colored rose-tinted contact glasses have been implanted into everyone’s eyes, rounding a 7/10 to a 9/10, a “maybe another night” to a “fuck yes, right now.”

Catra hates feeling even the slightest amount out of control.

Catra hates the way her emotions can feel all encompassing, the way her rage, her sorrow, and her hunger consume her. Catra hates feeling so powerless; she hates feeling.

Except her therapist at the college health center has been telling her it’s okay to feel these things. That she doesn’t need to bottle everything up and contain it until it erupts. 

Catra’s not sure if Netossa would necessarily endorse this particular way to let her emotions out and let herself feel for once. But then again Netossa does share a fair amount about her and her wife’s sex life, so maybe their rapor doesn’t squeeze right into the perfect patient-provider relationship.

“Let your emotions flow through you like the tide, Catra. Not every fight or every urge has to feel like a tsunami.” Netossa had said to her at their meeting last week. “Imagine you are a net; let the water flow through you, but keep the fish you want to hold on to.” Whatever the hell that meant.

So here Catra is, riding this fucking surfboard of heat and want, on her way to a goddamn, honest to Eternia, sex party.

Plumeria, one of the college’s more vegan hippie-loving co-op houses, is hosting its annual Saturnalia Bacchanal tonight. It’s not even a thinly veiled excuse to get blitz, naked and fucked, but the annual party is famous and near impossible to get in without an invitation or knowing someone on the inside.

Which leads Catra to her current situation, ambling down the snow covered sidewalks like a hungry cat after her meal-ticket into this party:

A-fucking-dora Grayskull.

Adora, who had been her best friend as long as she could remember, until one day she just wasn’t anymore. Adora, who had been her first (unrequited) crush, her first (poorly concealed) love, her first everything, and her first hole in her heart when one day she disappeared out of her life without a word and left Catra to rot in their foster home with their rotten hearted excuse for a foster mom.

Adora, who she had just reunited with a few months ago when they ran into each other at the beginning of the semester. Adora, who swore up and down that she never wanted to leave Catra, that she had tried to take her with her, that she had tried to say goodbye. Adora, who has been so determined to make it right with Catra since they reconnected, answering every question, giving every apology. Adora, who so desperately wants to be best friends with Catra again.

Adora, who is apparently friends with the house president of Plumeria and managed get them both invites to the most exclusive sex party on campus.

Their friendship has been off to a rocky restart, but Catra is trying, she really is. Catra has been trying not to flare out in all her anger like her therapist is teaching her, taking every crumb Adora will offer her, saying yes to every chance to spend time together. Saying yes and not listening to the details, which she really should have before agreeing to go to an orgy with her first (and only) crush/best friend/everything.

There are many problems with this situation, worse than the cold that nips at the back of her neck in the crevices between her scarf.

The first problem is that Catra is maybe, probably, absolutely still as in love with Adora as the day she walked out of her life despite the last however many years of silence, distance, and heartbreak.

The second problem is that the years have been more than kind to Adora. Sure, Catra herself has filled out, no longer the scrappy foster kid getting by on only her school provided lunch and whatever meals she and Adora could sneakily share. But if Catra has filled out from finally eating her daily recommended intake, Adora must have been fed pure protein powder by her new family.

Before just a few inches taller than Catra, Adora now towers over her, helped in no small part by her long, lean legs. Her arms are chiseled, biceps and triceps covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and extend sinfully from her stupid red cutoff sweatshirt. The hood of the sweatshirt is pushed back and from the coils of muscle that devel down her neck in perfectly defined trapezius, Catra knows that if she were to see her naked, Adora would be absolutely shredded head to toe. 

From the nape of her neck up to her temples, her previously long golden hair has been buzzed short, leaving just her signature poof of hair followed by a classic high ponytail. It should look silly, like she’s trying too hard. It would look silly, except Adora’s oozing carefree confidence and it’s making her Catra’s own personal Adonis, like she has any right looking this attractive.

The third problem is that Catra is headed to an orgy; a party where sex takes place, where she will be expected to have sex. Except Catra’s never had sex before, never wanted to have sex before with anyone. (Except sometimes, late at night or in her dreams, Catra thinks about having sex with Adora, and Catra thinks she would really, really, really want that.)

The biggest problem though?

“I bet you’re excited to find some alpha to fuck you hard and treat you right, aren’t you, kitty?” Adora slyly drawls and smiles back at Catra, the filthy words rolling off her tongue like silken honey.

The biggest problem is that Adora is frustratingly sex-positive, and suprisingly graphically vocal. She’s so easily comfortable in her skin in a way she never was when they were kids. Her words are fire, and Catra is gasoline burning up in her own personal inferno of heat and want. Adora is the picture of alpha confidence, and it’s doing things to Catra she’d really like to keep to herself right now.

Everyone always knew Adora was going to present as an alpha. Her confidence, strength, and general bullheadedness was a dead giveaway from day one. Everyone always thought Catra was going to present as an alpha too, so when one lonely morning after Adora had left, Catra woke up with a period instead of a hard on she couldn’t help but feel as if it was just another thing the world had robbed her of, another fault in her own list of deficiencies and in Weaver’s vocal admonishments.

Adora and Catra were both supposed to be alphas, side by side, ruling their own little corner of the world. And if Weaver said alphas weren’t supposed to mate with alphas, well, that would be just another bullet point on her long list of disappointing characteristics.

But instead, Adora left and Catra turned out to be some lousy, pathetic omega desperate for the one alpha who would never want her, who left her.

Except, well. Adora came back. Adora came back and now Catra is following after her, listening to her filthy words, and trying very, very hard to not be any more turned on than her usual baseline mating season level horniness.

“You’re gonna be so sore tomorrow, Kitten.” Adora says mischievously, a familiar grin on her face like they are talking about stealing cookies from the cookie jar, not like they are talking about Catra being bent over and having the living daylights fucked out of her. “Perfuma always hosts the best parties, I’m sure you’ll find someone you like.”

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Catra has already found someone, the one person, she wants. And Adora (stupid, knotheaded Adora) doesn’t want her back.

“Yeah, sure. I’m sure I’ll find some stupid, meatheaded alpha to fuck.” Catra throws back, just barely bristling at the thought. She turns her head away to avoid the eager blue eyes staring at her, such that she misses the light blush than stains the blonde’s cheeks when her lips curl around the guttural consonants of her words.

Catra stares up at the egregious pink awning of the co-op house that is their destination. There’s a well loved but barely contained garden that spills over the lawn with organic homegrown vegetables that drape across the porch railing like eccentric Yuletide baubles. On the porch guarding the door of the house is a familiar couple serving as bouncers.

“Hey, Mermista. Seahawk.” Adora greets as she bounds up the stairs while Catra drags after her.

“Sup, Adora.” Mermista drawls as Adora comes to a stop in front of her.

Eager to avoid Mermista’s forced nonchalance and Seahawk’s own person brand of annoyance Catra attempts to push past him into the dim, throbbing lights of the party inside, but she’s stopped by a hand to her chest.

“In order to get into the party you have to answer a question.” Seahawk grins.

“What, like a stupid puzzle in an escape room?” Catra throws his hand off her.

“Like, whatever.” Mermista helpfully replies.

“Like a quest!” Seahawk exclaims.

“So, what’s the question?” Adora pries attempting to mediate the interaction before Catra swipes his nose off.

“Oh, easy.” Mermista says. And then, she has the gall to trace her hand up one of Adora’s sinfully uncovered arms and squeeze at the exposed muscle. “What’s the definition of consent?”

Mermista smirks, like a cheshire cat and Adora is the canary she’s just caught, and Catra sees red. She seethes, and it feels like her core which has been molten hot with want is now lava overflowing out of her mouth with fury and jealousy. But Adora is raising her other hand and Catra knows she is going to disarm Mermista just like she used to brush off Lonnie’s tackles at recess.

Except. She doesn’t. Adora’s hand rests lightly over Mermista’s and a matching smirk rolls across her face as she steps in and closer to Mermista. “An empathetic yes.” The way Adora says it is so deep and low it would be so fucking hot if it weren’t for the shame and self depricating hatred that washes over Catra.

_Not mine._ She reminds herself. _Not mine. Notminenotminenotmine._

Catra pivots away from the scene, unable to stand seeing Adora flirt with someone else. She attempts to push her way past Seahawk again, but he’s ready for her, blocking the front door with his stupidly wide shoulders and stupid mustache. “Before entry into the Bacchanal everyone must prove their valor and answer the question!” He boasts.

“Shut your fucking mouth and let me inside.” Catra grunts out.

There’s an arrogant laugh from Mermista behind her. “I think that’s the opposite of the definition.”

Catra is about 2.5 seconds away from clawing that smirk off Mermista’s face, when Adora is a warm familiar heat against her back, one hand curling lightly around the wrist of her dominant hand. It’s a familiar feeling, Adora holding her back from fights she’s better off not fighting. The heat coiling in her gut, and the electric sparks Adora’s touch sends across her skin is less familiar but no stranger.

“What Catra means to say,” Adora says from just behind Catra, her puffs of warm breath seeping through the fortress of Catra’s scarf, “is ‘please, please, fuck me’.”

“Oh, fuck me.” Catra exclaims, only partially in exacerbation at the situation, and pushes her way into the party.

“That’s the spirit!” Seahawk exclaims as he barely dodges out of the way of her path.

Inside of the house the air smells like sweat, alcohol, and sex, and the pounding music only barely covers the sound of laughter from the porch. Adora slips through the door after Catra, and the shy, sheepish smile that graces her face is far more familiar to Catra than the confident, dirty-talking alpha Catra has seen all night. The foyer lights are low, beckoning revelers deeper into the house, but in the dim light Adora looks like the headstrong but bashful buck-toothed girl Catra used to know.

“Hey.” Adora says, her voice soft and gentle, like Catra is a wounded animal about to bolt. Her hand clenches and unclenches at her side, and for a moment Catra thinks Adora is going to reach out again, caress her wrist with the light pads of her fingertips -- hell, maybe even try to hold her hand. But Adora keeps her distance. “I’m sorry about Seamista.” Catra snorts at the portmanteau. “They are just taking their job very diligently tonight.”

Diligent isn’t the word Catra would use to describe the blatant flirtation, but her retort is cut short when she sees the hint of a frown tug at Adora’s lips.

“I just want you to know that you are welcome here.” Adora says, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m really happy you agreed to come tonight. I’m happy you are in my life again, and that I get to hang out with you again.”

And well, attending an orgy isn’t even on the top hundred activities Catra would have thought of to bring her and Adora back together again but, “I’m happy you’re in my life again too, Adora. And you know, dittos on the other stuff.” Catra huffs out, inspecting the scuff marks her steel toe boots are leaving on the floor.

Suddenly, this feels like too much to Catra, and that old tsunami of emotion rears its ugly head.

“I guess we should go enjoy the party or something.” Catra blurts out, and finds herself turning tail and fleeing deeper into the house. “Text me if you leave with some poor, unfortunate omega or something.” 

Catra hears the beginning of a protest die on Adora’s lips, and doesn’t look behind her. If she did, she might have seen Adora’s face crinkled in confusion and disappointment.

\---

Catra meanders the halls of the party aimlessly, trying not to stay in one place for too long lest anyone try to approach her or she runs into any other people she knows. She’s already seen Lonnie’s bare ass, which was more than she ever wanted to see, and Catra really hopes the puff of blue-white hair she briefly glimpsed in a previous room was not her therapist.

In the backyard Catra shares a few hits on a bong with Frosta, a small freshman who seems like the only other person at the party not interested in the sex fueled craze inside the house. She and Frosta have never been close, perhaps due to both of their penchances to lash out first and ask questions later, but as they silently pass the bong back and forth between them while the occasional obscene shout echoes out of the house Catra allows herself a small sense of camaraderie with the pint sized prodigy.

When they finish smoking the weed, Catra nods a wordless thanks to Frosta, and finds herself headed back into the house, a pleasant buzz numbing her from her surroundings and the muffled sounds of climax and bodily worship from the rooms beyond the hallways.

Perhaps the high dampens her senses too much though, because when she finally finds a room that doesn’t have a cacophony of sounds coming from it, she slips inside without double checking, hoping to find a reprieve. The room is clearly that of an upperclassman, as few underclassmen get a single room to themselves, and there is only one bed in the small dorm room. It’s not until after the door has clicked shut that Catra realizes the room and the bed are occupied.

Huntara, the women’s rugby captain is reclining on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling off the bed, her pants around her ankles while propping herself up on one muscular arm, and her other hand resting on the nape of the neck of some blonde omega girl, guiding their mouth up and down her cock. Huntara’s eyes are closed in bliss, and Catra hears the small hum of approval that escapes her lips when the omega’s mouth reaches the base of her shaft. 

At the click of the door, Huntara’s eye blink open. The blonde under her hand stills momentarily, but Huntara gently nudges the blonde’s head down to continue her ministrations. Huntara’s eyes burrow quizzically into Catra, and the younger girl flushes and averts her eyes, casting her eyes around the room. Based on the dirty rugby jerseys on the floor, and the trophies on the shelf above the desk, she’s clearly walked into Huntara’s room.

“You gonna to just stand there, or are you going to watch?” Huntara grunts out, less annoyed by the intrusion than Catra expected.

Catra stammers to say something to defend herself, but ends up snapping her jaw closed, unable to come up with a retort as her gaze lands on the blonde head between Huntara’s legs. The blonde is clearly enjoying herself, if the muffled groans escaping from her mouth are any indication.

Catra’s never thought of blow jobs as being something that an omega would enjoy. She’s always thought that blow jobs are a chore for omegas, a sacrifice of servitude for an alpha to use their throat and fuck them until their throat is coarse. Huntara is clearly a powerful alpha, her muscles flexed and on display, but she doesn’t seem like she is purposefully overpowering the blonde. If anything, the blonde is setting the pace and the depth to which she deepthroats the alpha’s cock.

Catra tries to imagine herself on her knees in front of Huntara. Would she enjoy it, Huntara’s thick dick in her hand and her mouth? Sure, it would be a heady rush of power to have such a strong woman under her control. But would it be pleasurable? Would it cause that same slick that dripped down her thighs when she touched herself, thinking of Adora, of her long fingers, and her goddamn sexy smirk?

Catra tries to imagine herself on her knees in front of Adora, and it’s like her body sings with electricity. Lightning dances across her skin and strikes her core, stirring that molten desire. What would her cock look like? What would she taste like? Would she taste just like she smells, such a sweet, sweaty stench, like salt and caramel, a pungent aroma that is purely Adora? Catra thinks of Adora, her blonde hair sweaty and disheveled, and the noises she’d make as she came apart in Catra’s hands and mouth.

The blonde omega in front of Huntara continues to suck Huntara off, beginning a fast but steady rhythm sure to set Huntara to explode any moment now, judging by their collective grunts and gasps.

It’s funny, she can’t see the blonde omega’s face which is angled away from Catra and covered in her disheveled hair, but if she weren’t clearly an omega servicing a powerful alpha, Catra would have thought the blonde looked kind of like Adora. Even her grunts of pleasure sound just like Adora when she’s at the gym, straining her beautiful muscles and pushing herself harder, faster. Actually, the blonde omega is very muscular, from Catra’s angle she really does look like--

“Adora!” Huntara exclaims and she cums into the blonde’s mouth.

“Adora?” Catra exclaims, the name escaping her mouth.

As Huntara continues to cum, Adora -- yes, Adora -- turns from her position below Huntara to look at Catra. Her hair is beautifully disheveled, her blue eyes wide in shock and then round with fondness. Her lips, red, stretch into an easy grin as she recognizes Catra.

“Catra!” Adora exclaims happily. 

Catra should look away. She should. But Catra can’t help watch the way Adora’s fist easily slides up and down Huntara’s cock, her wrist loose and languid as Huntara recovers. Catra can’t tear her eyes from the sight of cum dripping from the cover of Adora’s mouth, or worse -- the damp stain marring her white gym shorts, accentuated the imprint of something firm and big beneath her shorts.

“Oh, you know each other?” Huntara asks, slightly out of breath from her orgasm. “You should take her for a turn, Adora loves to give head and she’s damn good at it.” Huntara scratches the back of Adora’s neck in praise, and Catra sees how Adora straightens and flushes red with pride.

“Oh, I, um, I mean--” Catra stutters. Here is the woman of her dreams being offered to her, and Huntara, a respectable alpha, has mistaken Catra for a fellow alpha, for an equal, a peer. It’s everything she wants, and everything she can’t have.

“Oh, Catra is an omega.” Adora clarifies, smiling as if Catra’s whole world isn’t crumbling, and just like that Catra feels the harsh sting of tears threaten the edges of her eyes.

“I gotta go.” Catra exclaims and flees the scene for the second time in the night. She bursts through the door, back into the hallway, and if she hears Adora call after her, she ignores it in favor of pushing her way through the crowded hallway, breaking apart one couple in the middle of the hallway that blocks her way.

_Not mine. Never mine._ Catra reminds herself as she swipes at her eyes, attempting to squash a sob that bubbles up her windpipe.

_Fuck._


	2. Interlude

Adora is an alpha. Adora likes alphas. Adora is an alpha who likes alphas.

Despite what Weaver used to tell her, it’s not wrong for an alpha to bed another alpha, or an omega another omega, it’s just not common. In another life, Catra would be ecstatic to find out that Adora likes alphas. Growing up Catra always assumed Adora would be an alpha, and she would like alphas, because Catra was going to be an alpha, and one day they would mate and be inseparable. But they did end up being separable. And Catra?

_“Catra’s an omega.”_ Adora had said.

Catra’s an omega, and Adora’s an alpha, and it would all work out perfectly except clearly Adora doesn’t want an omega like Catra, and Catra doesn’t want anyone except for Adora.

Catra wants to want other alphas. She wants to throw herself into the nearest strong arms and let them fuck all these angry feelings out of her so she doesn’t have to feel them anymore. But she can’t make herself feel anything for these strangers, there’s no pounding desire when she looks at anyone but Adora. But maybe if she tries hard enough she can make it work.

Catra storms through the house, lit alight by her lingering sexual frustration and a familiar rage coiling in her stomach. She stops in the basement of the house, where the party rages on and couples, trios, and whole groups of party goers mash their mouths and bodies together against the walls and on every piece of furniture. Catra spies a familiar hulking form alone on one of the couches happily humming to herself, the space next to her empty. Perfect. Catra slides into the empty spot next to her.

“Oh, hey Perf-” Scorpia turns, surprised to see Catra. “Catra?” The large woman is a bumbling excuse for an alpha in Catra’s opinion, all muscles and no driving ambition, entirely too nurturing and doting to compete with other alphas.

“You had a crush on me freshman year.” Catra states without beating around the bush.

“Oh hey, Wildcat.” Scorpia flushes. “I mean, when you put it that way, I guess you would not be entirely, 100%, incorrect. I mean, you were very pretty, in a kind of intimidating, scary way back then, which isn’t to say that you aren’t still very pretty, and intimidating, and scary, and--”

“Scorpia.” Catra cuts her off, and swings a leg over her lap to straddle the larger woman, her claws extending and gripping into the fabric of the couch on either side of Scorpia’s head. “You wanted to fuck me, didn’t you, Scorpia?”

Scorpia flushes bright red and snaps her mouth shut, and honestly she might be kind of cute for an omega or even a beta, but as an alpha she’s much too easily molded to Catra’s whims, in Catra’s opinion.

“You still want to fuck me, Scorpia?” Catra asks, lowering her pelvis and grinding against the larger woman like Catra’s seen in porn, like she’s imagined doing to Ad--

Scorpia nods her head vigorously, words finally escaping her, and Catra throws herself at her, immediately smashing her lips into hers. It’s rough, and messy, and objectively not a good kiss, all misplaced tongues and teeth clunking into each other. Catra grabs Scorpia’s hands and sets them on her body. Scorpia’s hands are soft and gentle, bumbling and larger than the ones Catra wants. Catra grinds against Scorpia, huffing in frustration as she tries to feel something, some sort of spark between their bodies. Anything.

But nothing comes, it just feels like two bodies awkwardly clunking against each other, two gears out of sync, and Catra is the malformed, broken part of the engine that won’t run.

“Just fuck me already.” Catra snaps, and chokes back a sob as her tears threaten to break down her chin.

“Woah, woah, woah. Wildcat?” Scorpia stills beneath Catra. “Don’t get me wrong, Wildcat. You’re super great, and I would love to make love to you-”

“Ugh, gross.” Catra interjects.

“But, I don’t think that’s what you actually want right now. I think you’re confused, and hurt, and don’t actually want me.” Catra stills, a cold feeling settling into her gut as Scorpia continues. “I think you are going through some stuff right now and you just want someone to want you to numb the pain. And I do want you. But I want -- I deserve -- someone who wants me for me, Wildcat. And you do too. So you need to figure your stuff out, and if you do want to have sex with me for me, maybe we can work with that. But, uh, not right now, not like this, Wildcat.”

Scorpia’s firm but kind, and Catra didn’t know she had it in her. Catra looks over Scorpia again, and there’s a steel under her softness that she never saw before. Maybe Catra caused this hardness, or maybe Catra just never noticed it, but she looks at Scorpia in a new light.

“Plus, I met this new girl, and she’s really great, Wildcat. Like, super pretty, and kind, and patient with me, and--”

“Scorpia?” A shrill voice interrupts them. Perfuma, president of the co-op, is holding two cups of jungle juice and standing in front of Scorpia, whose lap Catra is still firmly on top of. “Catra.” Perfuma’s voice is sharp like thorns dripping with poison.

Catra can sense when she’s not welcome anymore, when she’s interrupting something that actually has the potential to be good, unlike anything she touches, so she hops off Scorpia’s lap and side steps Perfuma. “Uh, good talk, Scorpia. See you around sometime.” She mutters and eyes the drink Perfuma hands to Scorpia.

_I need a drink._ Catra thinks.

\--

There’s an obstinately orange gatorade cooler full of jungle juice in the kitchen. Catra finds herself a most likely unused red solo cup and fills in it to the brim with the vile citrus alcohol mix. She raises the cup to her lips and immediately downs as much of the drink she can muster in one go before quickly refilling her cup to the brim again.

“Rough night already, darling?” The familiar serpentine voice slithers across the room.

Catra’s hand freezes halfway up to her mouth, cup in midair. She pivots.

“Trouble.”

Double Trouble smiles their broadest, teeth-bared smile, while leaning against the industrial sized fridge. The first thing Catra notices is that they are wearing assless chaps.

Only assless chaps. 

Their bare skin glistens iridescent in the harsh fluorescent lights. Catra’s not sure if it’s from sweat, or body glitter, or Double Trouble is Just Like That. In their hands they play with a leather whip.

“What’s wrong, kitten?”

They slide up to Catra, swipe her drink from her hand and take a delicate sip. Catra huffs and makes a grab for the drink but Double Trouble dances out of her reach.

“Don’t call me that.” Catra snaps.

“Oh, but Adora can?” Double Trouble chirps.

Catra tries to make a second grab for her drink but is thwarted again.

“Some one’s feeling a little frustrated. What, haven’t found anyone tonight yet?” Double Trouble smirks. “I’m afraid I’m all booked up tonight, but I’m sure I could _squeeze_ you in somewhere.”

“You’re not my type.” Catra spits out.

Double Trouble tuts, “Darling, I’m everyone’s type.” They drag a finger under Catra’s chin.

Feeling a blush coming on Catra snarls and swipes at Double Trouble. Instead of grabbing for her pilfered drink Catra grips Double Trouble’s wrist pushing them up against the cool, humming metal of the fridge. Double Trouble smiles their coy smile like Catra has fallen right into their trap. “Unless you didn’t find someone here you wanted to fuck because you already arrived with them.”

Catra flinches back, dropping Double Trouble’s wrist like it’s scalding hot. “I’m not here because I like Adora or anything.”

“Darling,” Double Trouble drawls, “you don’t accept an invite to an orgy with someone you don’t want to fuck.”

Catra flushes. Double Trouble always knows how to get under her skin. She fumes, unable to deny the evidence that the torch she holds for Adora is a desperately neon Statue of Liberty altering anyone with a 50 foot radius of her crush on Adora. Despite her best efforts, her crush was apparent to everyone. 

Catra sighs, her facade cracking. “Fine. Maybe, _maybe,_ I like Adora. It doesn’t even matter anymore now. She likes alphas.” 

“Darling just because you’ve bought one product before doesn’t mean you can’t sample the wares from other shelves.” Something akin to pity and exasperation passes Double Trouble’s face. “You don’t invite someone to go to an orgy if you don’t want to fuck them, either.”

Catra snaps her eyes up to Double Trouble. _Could Adora actually like her back? No way._

“She doesn’t like me like that, not like I--” Catra cuts herself off. “Not like she likes someone else.”

“What, you’re hung up about Adora and the purple She-Hulk? Please, kitten. Huntara and Adora are old news; it’s never been anything serious.” Double Trouble hums, flicking their whip thoughtfully. “If your knickers are in such a slick twist about it, why don’t you just fuck it out of your system? The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

There’s something about Double Trouble’s wide serpentine eyes that lower Catra’s defenses. There’s no judgement, no pity, just curiosity. 

“I can’t. I tried. It’s just not there.” Catra sighs in defeat. “I’ve never wanted anyone like I want Adora.” And then, quietly, to herself, “I think I’m just broken.”

“You know there’s a word for that, darling?” Double Trouble lifts Catra’s chin to face them, their yellow eyes free from their usual sly sultry glint. 

“For what?” Catra’s voice quivers. She is _not_ going to cry in the basement kitchen of a party. And definitely not in front of Double Trouble.

“For people like you.” Double Trouble boops Catra’s nose, which she wrinkles in disgust. “Demisexual. It doesn’t matter how aesthetically appealing someone is.” Double Trouble gesture at themself with a wide sweep of their hand. “You can’t want them unless you want the whole package, and I’m not just talking about the XL Magnums Adora is packing. It doesn’t mean you’re broken, just different.”

_Demisexual?_ Catra rolls the word around in her mouth. She’s never been one for labels, won’t let anyone put her in a box. Catra’s not about to label herself as demisexual, if anything she is Adora-sexual, but there’s immense relief in knowing there are other people like her.

“So, I’m not broken?” She whispers.

“Horny for that golden retriever of an alpha stud? Blind to her raging hard on for you? Absolutely, darling.” Double Trouble tuts. “But broken? Not in the slightest.”

“You really think Adora wants me?” Catra breaths in disbelief. 

Double Trouble fixes Catra with an exacerbated look. “If I were Adora I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t want to fuck you like a filthy little thing. I think we can assume that she wants to pork you like a spitroast.”

Catra feels herself flush at the thought of Adora wanting her, of Adora bending her over and fucking into her. How her stupidly large hands would feel on her body, her hips, pulling at her hair. And if the ghost of the imprint on her gym shorts earlier were anything to go by, Adora was definitely packing some serious heat too.

Catra shakes the thought of what Adora’s dick might look like. “Even if Adora does want to fuck me, who’s to say that she would want me, like, for real?”

Double Trouble rolls their eyes. “Kitten, I love drama. But all this? It’s just silly theatrics. If you want the girl, you’re going to have to go get her.” 

Double Trouble hums, inspecting their fingernails, suddenly bored with the conversation. “Well, this conversation has been absolutely enlightening, but if you’ll excuse me, my talents are needed elsewhere.” Double Trouble twirls their whip and slides away from Catra. “Ta ta for now, darling.” They throw a wink over their shoulder, before slipping from the room leaving Catra alone in the kitchen again, now without her drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter, folks. I decided I wanted to add a scene or two next chapter to clarify some stuff after feedback, so I'm officially increase the chapter count from 3 to 4. More gay shenanigans for u. Smut coming right back at ya next chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Hated it? Want to read more? Want me to turn this into a podfic? I wanna hear your thoughts!
> 
> Please comment/kudos/suscribe!


End file.
